Look at the Sky: The instruction to ‘look at the sky’ is a beautiful way to gain perspective on our lives, and a wonderful way to practice gratitude. A seventeenth-century rabbi, Yechiel Michel Halevi Epstein, recommended getting up and going to a window as soon as we’re awake, to remind ourselves of the inherent holiness of all of Creation. He wrote:
“When you get up, look out your window at the sky and the earth and recall the verse, 'Lift up your eyes on high and see -- who created all this?' (Isaiah 40:26). And think, 'How many are your works, YHVH, with wisdom have You made them all; the earth is full of Your creations' (Psalm 104:24). Think of how wonderful Creation is, the sky and the earth and all that is in them — plants, animals, humans, creatures great and wonderful.”
Every morning I look out of one of my bedroom windows and I recite the two biblical verses that Rabbi Epstein recommends. I call this my window practice. Try going to a window first thing in the morning, and look at the sky. Take a moment to notice the clouds, and then whatever else is in view — trees, buildings, people. If you’d like, recite one or both of the verses that Rabbi Epstein recommends, or use other words that wake you up to the power and beauty of the sky and the earth.
If you’re not a morning person, try to remember to go outside and look up at the sky at least once a day. Notice the clouds, or the absence of clouds. Let your mind, just for a moment or two, open as wide as the sky.
Like a Passing Cloud: … Clouds are a wonderful reminder of the constantly changing nature of things. When we are inside a cloud, it eludes our grasp. When we watch clouds in the sky, we see them move and change shape from moment to moment. Clouds are an ongoing lesson in one very basic fact of our existence: everything comes and goes. All of creation is impermanent. We know this, of course, but we resist it mightily. And in that resistance, we suffer. We compound the natural sadness that we feel at the death of a beloved with an unwillingness to accept the truth of our mortality. We try to resist the very natural changes that occur — in our bodies, in our relationships, in our own hearts and minds — out of a deep desire that things remain the same. The truth is that change is hard, transitions are unsettling, and endings are often painful. And in resisting that truth, we make things worse.
— Toba Spitzer in God Is Here